


Shared Space

by what_on_io



Category: Plebs (TV)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Fluff, M/M, Sharing a Bed, This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever written, kissies, woeful attempts at humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 09:52:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3323084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_on_io/pseuds/what_on_io
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts off as purely platonic bed-sharing, to alleviate the smell the Thracians left behind in the flat. Unsurprisingly, it turns into more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shared Space

It's the night after they manage to get the Thracians out of the flat, and Marcus is still lying awake, staring at the ceiling and trying to ignore Grumio's soft snores at the foot of his bed. It's stifling hot in the room, which technically he supposes he should be used to by now - they've been living in Rome long enough for him to adjust to the heat - but it's a strange warmth; one which he puts down to the lack of strange people clogging up the flat rather than the absence of Stylax's body heat pressed against him in bed.

Marcus stretches out his arms and legs, taking full advantage of the fresh space in his bed, and sighs. There's a pocket of light seeping through the window aiming right for his left eye, so he rolls over onto his side, facing the door. He stubbornly refuses to curl in on himself, even though his right leg's half hanging out of bed, because to do so would admit there's room indeed for another person, which he definitely does not want, nor require.

Marcus squeezes his eyes shut, attempting sleep. It refuses to come. With his eyes shut so tightly he misses the shift from the other room, and startles into a sitting position at the sound of a soft throat clearing from the doorway.

"Marcus?" It's Stylax, standing in nothing but his pants in the entrance to Marcus's room. Marcus himself blinks through bleary eyes, squinting at his friend, who looks not exactly sleep-rumpled but bed-rumpled.

"What?" He was going for abrasive, but it comes out tired, and his lack of temper prompts Stylax to take a step towards the bed.

"I was wondering if you've got room in here for one more? Couldn't sleep," Stylax's voice is casual, but he avoids Marcus's gaze and keeps his eyes on the floor.

"Sorry-" Marcus begins, incredulous, " _Room for one more?_ This isn't a sleepover! What's wrong with your bed?!"

"Smells funny," Stylax mumbles, growing ever nearer. Marcus is half tempted to wake Grumio, just for some support that this exchange is abnormal and he isn't going mad, but, to be honest, his slave's opinion probably wouldn't help much in that regard.

"What, like the big hairy Thracians _you_ let into our flat?" Marcus jabs an accusing finger in Stylax's direction, "It serves you right! Go back to your own smelly bed."

"It's not just that!" Stylax protests, "S'cold." It's all Marcus can do not to start ranting the weirdness of it all. Instead, he lets out a long-suffering sigh and rolls back over so he's facing the wall, leaving half the bed for Stylax. He's trying not to sound like a petulant child when he hisses, " _One night._ That's all you're getting. You can change your disgusting sheets tomorrow."

He can envision the beam setting itself on Stylax's face when he wriggles into bed and whispers, triumphantly, "Thanks, dude! One night. Promise."

Marcus just groans, and goes to sleep.

* * *

 

The next day, Stylax changes his sheets, and Marcus goes to sleep in his own, thankfully empty, bed. He tries not to think of the impromptu, and he's praying accidental, cuddle he received last night when Stylax had (hopefully, please God) gone to sleep, winding his arms around Marcus's middle and sighing softly into his hair. If that wasn't the weirdest thing to have happened to him, he isn't sure what is. Well, at least he wasn't subjected to Stylax's other, more bizarre bedtime rituals this time.

The only sound in the room is Grumio's snuffles; everything's the way it should be. Marcus sighs a happy sigh and slips into slumber. The patch of light from the night before shifts to his shoulder, so he sleeps on, undisturbed.

It's just gone five in the morning when Marcus feels a shift beside him, and startles awake. In taking stock of his surroundings, he finds a guilty-looking Stylax on his way out of bed, one leg hanging over the edge and a sheepish grin plastered to his face.

"Sorry, man, didn't mean to wake you. Just thought I left something here last night. I can't find it anywhere!"

"Mmm, really," Marcus says. It isn't a question, "And what did you lose, again?"

"Erm," Stylax says, clearly stumped by such an unexpected question, "My... shoe?"

"You mean the shoes you wore to work today? Those shoes?"

"No! Erm, another pair. An old... shoe," Stylax finishes, pathetically.

"Ri-i-i-ight," Marcus says, stretching out the vowel, "And you just thought you'd check in the bed, just in case I hadn't thrown it at you when I lay right on it."

"You might've missed it," Stylax protests.

"Just admit it, Stylax! You were creeping into bed with me like a complete _creep_ , and trying to get back to your own room before I woke up and realised! And chucked you out like the _complete_ creep you are!"

"Sorry." The murmured apology brings Marcus's attention to the blush painting his friend's cheeks, and he feels the absurd need to laugh. He should definitely not laugh right now. That would be bad. Laughing would make Stylax think that this whole debacle is _okay_ , and that's definitely not what he wants him to think-

Too late. Marcus lets out a giggle, and Stylax looks at him for a moment before joining in. Soon they're both cracking up in bed together, and just as the giggles subside Marcus remembers how ridiculous this whole situation is, and it sends him right back off into fits of laughter, and almost incoherent cackles of 'your shoe!'.

"Guess I'd better go back to my room, then," Stylax whispers when they've both calmed down. Marcus glances over to Grumio's bed, surprised his slave hasn't woken and asked them what the fuck's going on.

"Oh, you might as well stay now. It's almost bloody morning," he mutters. Stylax shoots him a wide, toothy grin, flopping onto his side facing inwards, and that's that.

* * *

 

The next day at work, Marcus's head almost droops onto the table while he copies up a budgeting plan he's sure he's completed before. Before Stylax can prod him awake, Aurelius has already beaten him to it, so excited to have someone to jeer at that water splashes onto the page Marcus has almost finished writing up. He groans, taking in the ink stains blotting the paper and the rapidly running black fluid edging its way onto the table, then reluctantly hands the thing to Stylax. He shoots Marcus an apologetic grin as he shreds the paper between both hands, and Aurelius pipes up again before Marcus can tell him to kindly eff off.

"Sleeping at work, Marcus, what _would_ Flavia say?" he asks, smugly, grinning in a way that somehow grates on Marcus's tired brain as much as his words do.

"Probably 'are you tired out from all the- shagging you've been... getting up to?'" Stylax chips in, awkwardly, before Marcus can attempt a sarcastic response. Stylax's smile is pathetic in itself as he finishes lamely, and goes back to mutely shredding paper, lips curled into an attempted smile.

"As if," Aurelius smirks, "You two couldn't pull if you were the last people in Rome." He snorts, as if his response has tickled himself, and adjusts his hold on his jug, attempting to look superior.

"Oh, like you've been doing any better," Marcus snaps, without thinking.

"So you admit it, then, you _haven't_ been getting any." Aurelius's grin is growing ever-more self-righteous, lips curling upward into a sneer. It's what prompts Stylax to act, and the words that slip out of his mouth make Marcus want to punch that grin right off Aurelius's face.

Stylax's next move does it for him.

"Er, actually, he _has_. We've been sleeping together, haven't we?" he smirks, cocking one eyebrow, "S'why we're _both_ so tired."

Aurelius's jaw drops, and Flavia chooses that exact moment to flounce into the room, almost knocking his jug out of his surprised hands.

"Oh, congratu- _lations_!" she beams, clapping her hands together, "Now you can finally work out which one of you will be the bride," she continues sarcastically, pausing a second before taking on a serious tone, "I don't want to see any funny business in the workplace, please, gentlemen. Save it for outside of office hours. Thanking _you_!" She turns to go, just as Marcus would like to interrupt, but then announces in a shrill, sing-song voice, "Shredder! A word in my office, if you please."

Stylax glances sheepishly back at a glowering Marcus as he leaves the room, a blush painting his cheeks. If Marcus thought this day was already going to shit, it's a hell of a lot worse now.

* * *

 

"It's not _like_ that, I told you, we're just _sleeping_ together 'cause some Thracians took my bed and now they're gone and I can't sleep-" Stylax protests, seated in Flavia's office wishing, not for the first time in this room, that the ground would swallow him up.

"Hmm, yes, likely story, Shredder," Flavia grins intimidatingly across the desk, hands steepled under her chin, "It's none of my business what you and Copier get up to outside of this office. I just thought you might appreciate some, shall we say, _practical tips_. For the bedroom area. For when you're not _sleeping_."

"We're not-"

"Say no more, Shredder, darling. Just button it-" she reaches out a finger and presses it to Stylax's lips, still grinning lecherously, "-and listen."

If Stylax had wished for a convenient hole to appear beneath his chair before, it's nothing compared to what he feels now.

* * *

 

After spending the entire afternoon attempting to convince Aurelius that _sleeping together_ literally means sleeping together, and that it’s never again going to occur, with no reappearance of Stylax, Marcus trudges home alone, without bothering to wait for his friend. As soon as he reaches the flat, he snaps at Grumio, who once again hasn't bothered to empty the bins, sweep the floors, or make the beds.

"Don't see why I should, after what you two've been getting up to in there," his slave states defiantly, crossing his arms firmly over his chest.

"After what we've- Grumio, I thought you were asleep!" Marcus cries, feeling as though the whole world is against him, "And, for the record, we haven't been _getting up to_ anything. Why won't anybody listen to me?"

"I heard ya, havin' your sneaky little midnight chats. Gigglin' and squirmin' around in bed."

" _He_ crept into bed with _me_! We just went to sleep - nothing's going on!"

"Mmm," Grumio mutters, "Still no way I'm goin' anywhere near that bed, though.”

* * *

 

In the end, Marcus decides there's little point in making a bed he'll be sleeping in soon enough, and leaves the bedroom in its state of perpetual squalor. Stylax crashes through the entrance to the flat twenty minutes later, panting like he's just finished a marathon.

"Flavia's on the rampage, man. I barely got out alive!" he breathes, collapsing onto the sofa next to Grumio. Marcus rolls his eyes, exasperated with the pair of them.

"Well that's not exactly my fault, is it? You're the idiot who told Aurelius we're sleeping together. She was obviously going to walk in," he counters, causing Stylax to glance up at him in surprise. He'd obviously been expecting sympathy - well, he isn't going to get it, not now and certainly not from Marcus.

"I was just tryin' to shut him up. I didn't think it'd- escalate," Stylax protests. Marcus sighs, sinking into the seat beside him shakily.

"What did she say?" he huffs, resigned. The look of horror that crosses Stylax's face makes him regret asking.

"You don't wanna know, trust me, mate. I don't know where that woman gets her info, but that is some _filthy_ stuff. I'd never even heard of most of it, and I'm a bedroom connoisseur."

Marcus turns beet red, and hopes that's an end to the matter. Of course, it's never that simple, because as soon as Grumio pads reluctantly away to prepare whatever slop he's going to pass off as dinner, Stylax turns to him with what Marcus can only call a quizzical expression on his face.

"You know, everyone thinks we're sleeping together now anyway," he says, mysteriously. Marcus makes a barely audible _mmph_ noise.

"And no-one's gonna believe us when we tell them we're not," he continues.

“Urghhhhh,” Marcus moans pitifully, “Get to the point," he urges, dreading where this is going.

"I'm just saying - this whole thing isn't going to help us become Big Men of Rome, is it? So until it dies down... Y'know, my bed really is quite cold. And Grumio's is so tiny, and you're always complaining that he snores... So, I'm thinking... maybe we could have a switch around? Give Grumio my room, for a change? I move in with you?"

And Marcus is flummoxed, really, because this is _insane_ , of course it is. What self-respecting twenty-something year old is going to sleep - and from the way Stylax is looking at him, do more than sleep - with his flatmate, when he could be out chatting up women in bars and doing dirty stuff in alleyways? (Not that Marcus is _that_ kind of twenty-something, the most action he's had in the past year has been a dirty look from Cynthia when she caught him staring wistfully at her over the courtyard, and that wasn't even the fun kind of dirty). But Marcus can't pretend he won't miss Stylax's warm feet curling up at the back of his knees in the middle of the night, or an arm sneaking to curl around his waist. Which is crazy. Of course it is. He doesn't have _those kinds_ of feelings for Stylax. He doesn't want to cuddle up to him in bed or hold hands on the way to work or make gooey-eyes across the desk. (Except, maybe, possibly, he does).

"I suppose it'd mean we'd both get some sleep. No more passing out at work," he acquiesces, slowly, "And I guess your room _would_ be going to waste, if you're not using it."

Stylax beams at him, and Marcus tries to ignore the hand he finds suddenly resting on his thigh.

"I mean, just until it all dies down," he mutters, unconvincingly.

* * *

 

Nothing out of the ordinary occurs through dinner, and then Marcus finishes up some work he's brought back from the office and makes an excuse before slipping off to bed. He doesn't expect Stylax to join him quite so quickly, but he's barely been under the covers five minutes before the other man bounds into the room, hurriedly telling him Grumio's nipped out for a quick root around the bins before he strips down to his pants and rolls onto the other side of the bed.

Marcus forces a yawn, because it's weird, suddenly, and it helps to dispel the awkwardness a tad. Stylax blinks at him, chewing on his lip thoughtfully.

"So-"

"Maybe we should… snog?" Marcus cuts in; the words leap out of his mouth before he can stop them. He immediately burns crimson, feeling the humiliating blush slide up from his neck, painting his cheeks a guilty shade of red.

He expects Stylax to ask what the fuck he's thinking (but then Stylax is the one initiating all of this, Marcus reminds himself gratefully, relaxing a little) and perhaps recoil, but his friend grins in a _that's-what-I-was-thinking_ way, and angles his head awkwardly to press their lips together. And it's weird, of course it is, he's kissing his best friend, but it's also rather nice. Stylax's lips are soft and full beneath his, and he feels a warm, fuzzy feeling making itself known in his belly.

"Better?" Stylax grins, and Marcus manages a nod. He hears Grumio re-enter the flat, distantly, but doesn't have it in him to spring away from Stylax's warmth.

"Don't come in!" they both yell when the slave reaches the door, and hear a disgusted sounding _yeuchh_ sound on Grumio's behalf. It's not long before they descend into giggles, and then Marcus's fingers are tangled in Stylax's hair, and Stylax mutters filthily into his ear, "Y'know, some of that stuff Flavia told me about didn't sound half bad..."

And it's not perfect, not by a long shot, but Marcus can't imagine ever living differently, after the first few months. As months turn into years, the echo of _until it all dies down_ is forgotten, and dreams of settling down with Cynthia seem like a hazy memory. Marcus's dreams are replaced, instead, by the feel of Stylax's calves tangled with his in the bedsheets, and the feeling of his gorgeous, wiry hair between his fingers, and the whispered _I love you's_ (awkward at first) in his ear as he settles down to sleep.

 _Insane_ , he tells himself, regularly, but he can't quite make himself believe it anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I'm posting this.


End file.
